Hollinger Corp. 
pH 8.5 



PS 3503 
.R58 J8 
1912 
Copy ^ 



JUST STUFF 




EFFUSED 
BY 

GUY BLUE 



V 



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tMOCKAl' PKINT liM.I.ATIN 



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To My Friends: 

The tJiiiHjx herein coii- 
iiiined Jiave been trriffen ((f 
rai'loiis flinex for j/oif and 
to f/oH. Peril dps. you re- 
meniher -so/ne of f hem. 

If Just Sttiff^' costs you 
nothing^ stiouJd you t>t(irne 
me, if you read any (f it? 

The copyrigJit liereou is 
not prima rity for the pur- 
pose of protection^ none be- 
ing needed., bid IS for the 
purpose of DIGNIFY INif 
or of lendi}u/ an AIR to 
th is ' ' AY uf\'' ot h e r ir i s e 
uliotfy f aching. 

Voii nuiy doutd it, t)id I 
am. 

You J' si ucerc friend ^ 

GUY BLUE. 



Copyright. 

1912, 

by 

ROLLIN J. BRITTON 



My Girl. 



Don't beckon me to Arts ideal. 
Don't talk to me of a girl unreal; 

Nor sing to me of a mountain maid. 
Who climbs o'er rocks and is ne'er 
afraid ; 

Nor chant to me of the western girl, 
In divided skirt^s, on a mustang 
awfhirl; 

Nor care I for an athletic spiel, 
About short skirts and muscles of 
steel. 

•Just push aside these mannish 

creatures, 
In western garb and sun-burned 

features. 

I hanker for the dear old girl, 
With skin so soft — and teeth of 
pearl. 

With lips as red as a red, red rosie. 
And eyes that tell more than anyone 
knows ; 

With a mind that puts one's soul 

aglow. 
With its thoughts, in words, spokeJi 

sweet and low, 

Glad in the things that are woman's 

clothes, 
From her peek-a-boo waist, to her 

silken hose. 

Oh ! she is the girl that is hug-a-ble 

too, 
Kiss-a-ble, lovable, through and 

th rough ; 



And I wouldn't swap her for e'en a 

brief spell, 
For all of the other kinds, this side 

of — Texas. 



The Pioneer. 

Seventy years from the wilderness, 
Three score years and ten; 
And the frontier lines have vanish- 
ed, 
Midst the bu,sy marts of men. 

Seventy years from the wilderness. 
And the pioneer gaunt and gray; 
With the sombre life he loved so 

well. 
Is passing to endleso day. 

Twenty-four years, he was happy 

and poor, 
Six swift years in hell, 
Forty years of labor and hope, 
And he builded wondrous well. 

Grod loives the ancient pioneer, 
And has blest him with much to 

tell, 
Of honest love and honest toil, 
And he's taking him home to dwell. 



My Dear Wife. 

I'm thinking of you my dearie, 
How you've loved and cared for me; 
How little I've done in return dear, 
Though I've never ceased loving of 

thee. 
Oome sit on my lap again darling. 
We'll spoon as we did long ago; 

* :;; :!: ;i: 

Oh! dang- it! get off of my foot now, 
You'v^ ruined the corn on my toe. 



Dear Ruth. 

Your sweet face hi the photo dear 

Is smiling up at me; 

And taking me in memory, 

Back where the mountains be. 

Back where the golden sunshine, 
Wakes to life, the mountain rilla, 
And the story of creation. 
Is writ in granite hills. 

I love the grand old "Rockies," 
That memory shows to me; 
B(ut bless your own sweet picture! 
I'm fonder still of THEE. 



To Miss Margaret B. Jamieson. 

I met a Scottish lassie, 

Oil Loch Lomond far away; 

And she laughed in dire derision, 

At the Gaelic Words I'd say. 

Oh! I knew I could not speak them. 

But I wished for her to know. 

Of my pride i,n G-randsire's story, 

Come from Scotland long ago. 

And I'm dreaming, dreaming, dream- 
ing. 
On that little steamer steaming. 
Down Loch Lomond far away; 
And I ask her o'er and o'er. 
For a tale of Gaelic lore. 

And the postman brought a card 
from her to-day. 



"I live for those who love me," 
I know this means but few; 
But I'm sure, if I but work them 
There's enough of them to do. 



Cupid. 



I'm told that a little 

Shameless elf, 
Who'd left his clothes 

On some long lost shelf; 
Used to travel around 

With arrow and bow, 
Till he'd filled the World 

With mirth and woe; 
But this was long — 
Real long- ago, 

Sm'art folks now shuck 

The shameleSiS elf. 
Away behind much 

Piled up pelf; 
Aind they've broken the 

String of his little bow; 
And the present stock 

Of mirth and woe. 
Is all home made 

A deal of a go. 

Dear Si^er. 

Twixt love and hate and 

hope and fear, 
The world is full of things 

so queer; 
That I am sometimes forced 

to sigh, 
And wonder just the reason 

why? 
But then I see my duty 

clear. 
And keep on loving you, 

my dear. 

I'm still in love with Kansas, 
And Kansas girls to me, 
Are Just like dear old Kansas; 
(But I'm thinking still of thee.) 



The Comforting News. 

The poet dreamed a beautiful dream, 
Of mountains and clouds and valleys 

of green ; 
Of flocks and herds by a purling rill, 
That meandered away down a pujr- 

ple hiill; 
His life was blest with joy serene, 
O! happy the poet in his dream. 

i3uc awakening came like a mighty 

roar, 
For the mail man entered the open 

door, 
And thrust in the hand that lay in 

his lap, 
A devilish dun from the "Democrat". 
The same had come the day before. 
He'd seen it times about a score. 

Oh! shattered are the dreamer's 

dreams, 
The poet's world just merely seems; 
While life and love and sin and hate 
Keep the poor devil a scratching 

late; 
And yet he tunes his lyre and sings 
Of the comforting- news the paper 

brings. 



Introspection. 



Once a knocker came to town. 
Most things he did despise; 
He a3ted quite superior, 
And felt most wondrous wise. 

I thought about this gentleman. 
And sized him for a clam; 
He bore my very name sir! 
And he wasn't worth a dam — 

(Tinkers.) 



A Song. 



(THie air and the atmosphei-e are 
synonymous.) 

SWEET— 

I've loved you long and a plenty, 
I want you all for my own; 
Come sail with me over the ocean, 
We'll bask in the glories of Rome, 
Come sail with me over the ocean, 
And be my own — sweet own. 

We'll love midst works of Old Masters, 
I'll love you all for my own; 
Come sail with me over the ocean. 
We'll love down the valley of Rhone, 
Come sail with me over the ocean. 
And be my own — sweet own. 

I'll list to the music of Heaven, 
If you say — "I am your own"; 
Come sail with me over the ocean 
And back once again to our home. 
Come sail with me over the oc^an. 
And be my own — sweet own. 



To Miss- 

Your picture on the mantle, dear 
Brings your sweet self to me; 
And calls up all the memories. 
Of a trip across the sea. 

Fw somewhere in my memory. 
Is a tale of the deep blue sea; 
And when the tale is ending, 
I always think of thee. 

And now that story haunts me, 
When jour picture comes to me; 
And I love the dear old ocean. 
But fm fonder still of thee. 



Ego. 

Bill Jones is a great talker, 
He works at it each day; 
And when he gets to going, 
He travels 'bout this way: 

"I'd love to travel far away, 

And leave my friends behind; 

I'd wander round this strange old 

sphere, 
And its stranger people find. 

I'd love to sail across the seas. 
And the cooling breezes feel, 
As the waves das:h 'gainst the ves- 
sels .side, 
And make the old boat reel. 

I'd viev/ Arabia's desert sands. 
And the streets of Cairo old; 
And the city of Naples by the bay, 
At the foot of Vesuvius bold. 

I'd view the steppes of Russia broad, 
And the mountains of Hindostan; 
I'd view the rivers of every clime, 
And the greatest works of man. 

But a little woman kindly says; 
"Your kids have appetites keen, 
And they need clothes and so do I." 
So I dig for the long green. 

If I could trade that bunch of love, 
With the labors and joys they bring; 
For views of the world and wealth 

besides, 
I'd shake the whole darned thing." 

Bill .lones has told that story. 
Till he thinks its almost true; 
But the fact is, Bill's a liar. 
And he never earns a sou. 



Old Arkansas. 

When you think you are in dream- 
land, 
Midst its mountains and its plains; 
Where the rivers all flow southward. 
And the verdent verdure frames, 
AM che valleys into greenness; 
And the forests sigh refrains. 

Where the mountain air is laden 
With the perfume of the pines; 
Where the w^ater fowl are rising. 
Just beyond the canebrake lines; 
And the mocking bird is singing, 
From his refuge in the vines. 

Where the cotton grows spontaneous. 
Through the bayous fertile mould; 
And the cornfields and the rice lands 
Bear a freight of wealth untold ; 
And the brooklet by the homestead. 
Would a tale of love unfold. 

Then you think of fields Elysian. 

And the city without flaw, 

And toward yonder view ecstatic. 

You in v\^onderment but draw, 

But the darling "dipping snuff" there 

Proves you're down in Arkansas. 



An Aphorism. 

By JOHN A. KECK. 

We see all things in evidence 
I And if we'er put to rout; 
' We ascertain the balance. 

By simply finding out. 



! Now Jack you tell Elizabeth. 

! She makes her uncle sad; 

; By being very naughty, 

i When she isn't awful bad. 



Ka 



nsas. 



I long for Kansas prairies, 
Those vordant plains to see; 
They're such a world-wide spread of 

greein 
They harmonize with me. 

Now when vain fancy calls me, 
Far away from thoug'hts of pelf; 
I dream of green prairies, 
And the greenness of myself. 

And the grand, great wealth of green- 
ness, 
That comes floating then to view. 
Goes a sweeping past my vision. 
Till it almost tinges yon. 

But the bugle call of duty, 
Will awake me^ — and the view, 
With its greens, must surely vanish. 
And the colors change to blue. 



My Ocean Queen. 

With tresses that bore the hue of 

night. 
And lips as red as the rose; 
With eyes that dreamed, yet saw 

aright. 
And form of divinest pose; 

A rugged beauty, divinely fair. 

A vision of life serene; 

You floated to sight like a vision 

rare. 
Then vanished— My Ocean Queen. 



We live in happy love dear. 
In love so good and true; 
You're loving all the world deai-. 
And I am loving you. 



In Summer Time. 

Men dream of youth and valour, 
Ajnd linger o'er halcyon days; 
When life is a stirring action. 
And love marks all of its ways. 

When the red blood runneth to riot. 
j And the heart of the maiden is g'lad, 
j As a valorous scion of maniiood, 
I On loves passion well nigh goeth 
I mad. 



And they lingor o'er visions of battle. 
As the hero his part playeth well; 
And his enemies die all aro-und him 
Midst the maddening scenes of war's 
hell. 

And sweet is the buxom maiden. 
That escapes with her strong lover 

true; 
While the weakling with all of his 

millions, 
Is bidden a ha — ha adieu. 

But put those thin.gs far from me, 
I really haven't the time, 
Tthe fish are a biting freely, 
And I'm a sudologist fine. 



An angel gazed on the open page, 

Where I wrote my record down; 

And there were tears in her soulful 
eyes ; 

But angels can not frown; 

And her tears that rained on that 
open page, 

Softened those signs of hell, 

And she wiped them out with a blot- 
ting pad, 

I guess she did yours as well. 



I' W li I. V E 



Solace. 

A chump there was, 
With the sense of a clam; 
And he did as many men do. 

And a woman there was, 
A real bright woman; 
Lovable through and through. 

And they met, and he sighed. 

As a lover should sigh. 

In a story that's probably true. 

Then he wanted to call. 
Oh! he had the gall 
And she turned him adrift mighty 
blue. 

But ere he departed 

This life broken hearted, 

She kissed the poor cuss adieu. 



A Valentine. 

Everywhere in this 

Old— Old— World ; 
Where hearts are 

Happy and true, 
They're telling a story 

That's very old, 
And sweet and pleasant 

And ever new. 
It's full of thrills and 

Rhapsodiies, 
May I tell it dear 

Tio you? 



I dreamed a dream 

Oh! it could not be; 

Did you hear a low drawn sigh? 

The old world laughed. 

And just rolled on, 

Do you ever wonder why? 



T .H I K 'I- [•: K \ 



Dear Wife. 

The years have flown so quicklj^ 
Since the days of (something) three 
When time to me was started, 
Eire time began with thee. 

And tlie scenes that have just flitted. 
L«ike dreams in memory, 
Have taken me through many a state. 
And cross the deep blue sea. 

And sorrows too have touched my 

heart, 
And joys have come to me, 
B'Ut the happiness of life has been. 
To be at Home with thee. 

Tlhen kiss my Mary and hug my 

Jack, 

And love Grandma for me; 

And know that on my birthday, 

I'm just a loving thee. 



Dear Mary 



Much happiness has come to me, 
A looking on and loving thee. 
How good the Father when he sent 
Such happiness and sweet content. 
And oh! how grateful 1 should be. 
A looking on and loving thee. 



There are moments long pa,st, 
Which fond memory brings; 
Sweet laden with incense 
From Eden's own bowers; 
Though time in his flight, 
0,n tireless wings. 
And the mammon of men. 
With its splendors and powers. 
Would down all the memo-ries. 
That may have been ours. 



A Missouri Lawyer's Report. 

(Annotated) 

I've been to court in Kansas. 

Where sunflowers used to grow: 
I've crossed prairies beautiful, 

And felt the breezes blow. 

The corn fields and the wheat lands 

Sing- a golden roundelay; 
And alfalfa grows so devilish fast 

They cut it every day.(l) 

The air is dry in Kansas, 
And I was "dry" there, too, 

Till 1 flew away with the "Eagles" 
And learned a thing or two. (2) 

They try men out in Kansas, 
For selling "short" and "long;" 

And when the jury's through, sir. 
Defendant's "short" most 
strong. ( 3 ) 

And Cupid's working overtime. 

At every Kansas station; 
A man just loves those Kansas girls. 

Till they sue for alienation. ( 4) 

(1) For verification of this statement see J. W. 
Eads or J. W- Bartleson. 

(2) Cross reference, see "Elks." 

(3) This verse is not clear, but reference may 
be had to F. J. Knight or Chas. H. Nicholas. It is 
also said to please Gev. Hoch. 

(4) This verse originally read: 

"To Miss Kansas: 

Your form divine 
/ Enthralls a heart 

That's far beneath your station; 

But Oh! I fear 

These Western folk 
Who sue for alienation." 

You will find the original copy on file in the 
office of Burnham & Dashiell — who duly ap- 
proved this form. 



A case on trial in the court 
Caused the eloquence to swell, 

Till plaintiff's own hired coun.sel 
Sent defendant "straight to 
hell!" (5) 

The Judge came down from off the 
bench 

And took me by the hand; 
He looked out 'cross prairies 

Into another land. (6) 

He told me 'bout the purple hills, 

The autumn glories rare, 
The odors 'neath the forest trees 

In the county of Adair. ( 7 ) 

I clasped his hand; 

He thrilled me through — 
This poet judge 

From "Old Missou."(8) 

My case? Oh, well! 

Where sunshine lies 
I do my duty — ■ 

Made a compromise. ( 9 ) 

Gallatin. Mo., Oct. 12, 1905. 

(5) This quotation is not exact, but we must 
preserv^e the meter. For exact quotation see 
Kogey & Anderson; also Park B. Pulsifer. 

(6) Sometimes stated, "A better land." 

(7) Missourians living in Adair and adjoining 
counties think a good deal of Judge Pickler, but 
this should be kept quiet in Kansas. 

(8) The reader will notice "HIS hand." 

(9 If the reader feels like saying anything per- 
sonal to the writer, he can gratify himself by 
giving the pretty girl at the Bell Telephone office 
$1.50, after which he will be permitted to swear 
softly for three minutes in the telephone box. 

A Remittance of $18.00 should be made by 
each lawyer receiving a copy of this re- 
port. Otherwise the system will not be 
kept up. 



Succeeding reports MAY be published 
at the following prices: 
Library Sheep - - . . $8.00 
'Buck Ram ----- $6,00 
(Will keep in dry climate. 

These Reports will not be on sale at "The 
Bunch Drug Store." 



Oh! may I not dream 
Of voluptuous laiitd 
Where waking brings never a sigh? 
And the mirth of "Old Earth" 
Ais she wobbles along, 
Is drowned in — do kiss me — O — h 
m — y ! 



You and I. 

Let us dream again, 

Of those other days. 
Those days of the dreamy past, 
When 3^ou and I loved dreaming much 
And dreams came thick and fast. 

Shall we dream again. 

As in other days; 
Those days of the long ago. 
Of the things we loved to seem to 

be, 
A million miles from woe? 

Shall we dream delusions. 

As in other days; 
Those days of the fervent past, 
And float away in an open boat, 
Without rudder, sail or mast? 

Shall we love again, 
As in other days; 
Those days of the loving past; 
When you and I loved loving much. 
And hugged delusions fast? 



SEVENTEF. N 



Oh! the joys we've known 
Since those blessed days, 
Those days so far away; 
When you and 1 were dreamers young. 
And our fancies light and gay. 

And am I as bad. 

As in other days; 
Those days of the dreamy past; 
Though the red, red blood is flowing 

still , 
Don't you think I'm good at last? 



To Miss 



R 



U 



H 



emain in love with Dad for aye, 
ope in his heart each blessed day. 

ntil his happiness shall flow, 
nendin^ as the mountain snow. 

^ell him of your every joy 
ill he thinks he's just a boy. 

ug him hard and love him true, 
elps him ever, same as you. 



To Madam Duval. 

I am dreaming, dreaming, dreaming. 
On a steamer that is steaming, 
Toward the coast of Normandy. 

And that gleaming, gleaming, gleam- 
ing, 
Is the sunshine, that is streaming. 
O'er the green clad hills of France. 

Oh! I'm gleaning, gleaning, gleaning. 
Midst this idealistic seeming 
All the glory of her Paris and her 
art. 



GH T F. F. -N 



A Musical Comedy. 

There's .a legend of the plains, 
Lying neath Colorado's sky: 
Where things are altitudinous. 
And likewise very dry 

That a man must surely irrigate. 

Or else he's apt to die. 

Where sunshine falls in glory. 
On snowy ranges high. 
And fills the mountain streamlet, 
With songs that lovers try 

And man must dam the music 

And irrigate or die. 

Where the music of the mountains, 

And the blueness of the sky. 

Just thrilled the soul of Milton 
Smith; 

Till he stage-ed the D. R. I., 
And sang that he would irrigate 
Or know the reason why. 

Then Kenefick formed the chorus. 

With Lucas singing high, 

An_l Speer and Bancroft warbling-, 

And Banks a sitting nigh, 

And the music was — "Lets irrigate 
Or bust things high and dry." 

B.ut Tew rang- in a discord; 
And Stybr burst a swell. 
While Quigley looked real pious. 
As o'er Ireland, Hensley fell, 

And the sweetness of "Lets Irri- 
gate" 

Was spoiled by Russell's: "Hell!" 

Now there comes a blueness o'er me. 
Deeper than Colorado's sky, 
For the pain is seared within me 
Till my eyes refuse to cry 

So I'll seek a booze emporium 

And irrigate or die. 



N I N E T R E 



Dreams. 

Oh! the dreams a dreamer dreams. 

Midst the ever changing scenes; 

Neath the firmament of blue, 
I Where the stars of night look 
I through. 

j Push his cares of life away , 
Let the dreamers visions sway, 
With their living, dying strife, 
All the dreaming dreamers life. 

But the dreamer wakes from dreams. 
With their evanescent scenes; 
When a woman steps on deck, 
And of dreamland makes a wreck. 

Still fair woman twas with thee. 
That the dreamer dreamed to be. 
And for you he meets the strife, 
That meauis battle all his life. 

And the dreamer dreams of pelf. 
And of your ex!quisite self; 
And of love long tried and ti'ue. 
Is he waiting dear for you? 



To E. A. K. 

When the lure of the east is over, 

And your strife for glory is through; 

When you've smiled adov/n the broad 
board walk, 

And done Coney Island too; 

When "Vanity Fair" is ended; 

Bid the "Great White Way" adieu. 

And turn your thoughts to the west- 
ward, 

Where we're playing the game for you. 

(But the cards have been stacked a 
little 

By A*" Bolton and one G. Blue.) 



John Jenkins. 



John Jenkins is a nervous man. 
His life is one acclaim; 
For things to be in order, 
And for '"Home" that's more than 
name. 

He goes straight to his domicile, 
When his daily task is done; 
And when he enters the front door, 
His wife sings, "Kingdom's Come." 

For .John removes from off the floor. 
The papers scattered there, 
He wipes the dust from off a shelf 
And sits down in a chair. 

Tihen up he jumps and pulls a rug, 
A broom he gets to sweep; 
A radiator he dusts off; 
And cleans a window neat. 

The books he straightens in a case. 
The drawers shut with a crack; 
The scattered garments gathers up; 
And hangs them on the rack. 

The closets come to order. 

The sink gets a good rub. 

The range gets it's inspection ; 

And the bath room door a scrub. 

And w^hen the dinner's over. 
And John would read the news; 
Ha spies tihe chairs are not arranged 
According to his views. 

He puts the chairs in order, 
And the mantel, he doeth tlreat. 
Unto a cleansing- process. 
That makes it very sweet. 

And when tis time to go to bed. 
His wife falls in a swoon. 
For she finds him straightening up 
The dressei* in her room. 



TWENTY-OMl, 



T,hen when the morning dawns, 

And he has gone — oh my! 

She finds that he has traced her 

name, 
Wherever dust doth lie. 

And this is her reminder, 

Of things to do straightway; 

Till he can come back from his work 

And do as yesterday. 

Yet she never does get angry. 

Nor does her love run cool. 

But once a neighbor thought she 

knew, 
She'd married a d — — ^d fool. 



Friendship. 



i I am your friend, 

' As friendship goes; 

! I v/ould not add 

! To any one's woes; 

! But should you dare 

I To cross my track, 

\ I'd plunge a knife 

I Into your back. 



At Bleish's Grocery Store. 

Well, me and .John's been to McFall. 
And we heard the sages roar. 
As tells the stories good and tall. 
At Bleish's grocery store. 

Oh! B.leish he says: "You under- 
stand," 

And then he ripped and tore. 

And told how this ye re blessed 
laud, 

Was bleedin' all and sore. 



"Aiiid Tilden was elected," "see" 
He siez it with a yell, 
"An republicans in ninety-three, 
Was meaner sure than hell." 

"And now when times agin is glum. 
An moneys bid farewell, 
All democrats is chewing gum, 
An thinkin' some a spell." 

He knowed the hull dang busted 

thing. 
Was caused by currency a settin', 
While the banks was just about to 

spriiig- 
A steal of three per centum. 

An Rallsten sed: "It were a fright 
Tihe way the banks could do us; 
No western bank should shut up 

tight. 
When New York owed St. Louis." 

An Governor Jim he said with vim; 
As sure as Holy writ, 
"The banks take all the money in. 
And then they up and loan it." 

Oh! m.emories of boyhood spring! 
Midst all this wondrous lore, 
'Twas ever thus in "spitters ring" 
At Bleish's grocery store. 



A Valentine. 

'Twas long ago. 

And Summer time, 
With the nights 

At sea sublime; 
The stars looked down 

On the Cedric's deck, 
And the zephyrs blew 

Ones hair a wreck. 



T VV^ E N T Y - T H R E f : 



I- 


While the changing colors 




Of the sea 




Formed a vision of glory 




For you and me. 

* :;: :;: =:: 




And that vision 




Often now I s.ee 




Along with a picture 




That looks like thee. 




"A Jiner/' 


Miss Lilly O'Flalierity came from | 




France, 


A democrat through and through; | 


She 


hated the royal aristocrats 


And 


their social vagaries too. 


She 


lived for the good of the com- 




mon weal, 


And 


her heart would well nigh 




break ; 


As 


3he thought of the Lord's of 




many realms, 


And 


the snobbishness of Sitate. 


She 


loved America's manly men, 


AH 


Sovereigns, first and last. 


And 


one, she took into her heart. 


And 


"nailed him to the mast." 


And 


when her hubby's erstwhile joy. 


Had 


wilted down a bit; 


He 


found his queen demanding 




things; 


So into work he lit. | 


For 


he had to join the Masons. 


So 


she could enter the "Eastern 




Star," 


And 


the I. O. O. F. must open its 




doors ; 


For 


there's where "Rebekah's" are 



And the "Royal Neighbors" heard 

her cry. 
And the "Knights and Ladies of 

Oheer," 
And she is the "Regal Potentate 
Of the Western Hemisphere." 

Her hubby's the institution now, 

That ^eeps the children all; 

While she in a night gown over her 

dresiS, 
Goes marching in the hall. 

And Oh! Alas! It has come to me. 
She's become a "Princess" too, 
In the "Royal Court" with its pur- 
ple robes; 
Good Lord! What can he do? 



The Summer Girl. 

A pretty face neath a mass of hair; 

A peek-a-boo waist, and arms all 
bare; 

A pair of slippers that make one 
stare; 

A skirt — oh yes — I see it there, and 

A pair of silk hose that end some- 
where. 

Oh! how she can pose, 
As she plays her part, 

Oh! bless the dumpling. 
She's most all heart. 



A Cry^al Wedding. 

Dear Will: — 

Life has been good to thee; 
The wife, the babies and the home 
But speak lifes ecstasy, 
And I shall join your crew 

TWENTY-FIV E 



That sails o'er a "crystal" sea. 
The good that comes to you 
Shall also come to me. 

Beyond this crystal sea 

We may not be together, Will. 

I'm — not — so good — as — thee! 



To Miss 

A glint of sunshine played to-day. 
cross my room in willful way. 

Like token of the days to be, 
est we forget midst the gloom we see. 

Insatiate with sheer delight, 
grasped the sunbeam warm and bright 

Gome emblem of the good and free, 
anst thou bring happiness to me- 

E're winter's songs of discontent, 
nthrall our hearts with 

Then did the sunshine fairy say, 
SUM\IP:RS here, 
Just over the way. 



dread lament? 



Phantoms. 

I've been way back to Boyville, 
Midst the scenes of long ago, 
With the memories of boyhood, 
On the banks of "old St. Joe." 
Where I've basked in summer's glory. 
And the joys I fain would know, 
But the phantoms sat beside me, 
And they filled my soul with woe. 

There were fevv who e'en recalled 

me. 
As an humble care free boy 
Barely one asked of my calling, 
Or the things that give me joy. 
And my boys and girls of Boyville, 
Most, have gone far, far away. 



But their phantoms hovered with me, 
In an awful gruesome way.. . 

On the river flows forever, 

Just as God's would have it flow; 

Just a crystal flood of g"lory, 

Down the valley of St. Joe. 

And our launch midst clouds and tree 

tops, 
Mingled in reflections glow, 
But the phantoms rode beside me 
O'er the waters of St. Joe. 

Oh! the memories of boyhood, 
And the gloiries of that ride; 
Midst the Islands of the river. 
Where the crimson flowers abide. 
And the cattle way off yonder, 
Walk feet upward through the tide, 
But reflections are but phantoms. 
And they're ever at my side. 

'ISvas the "Hero" song the women 

sang, 
As we floated down the stream; 
And the music wa.fted over, 
That valley's silver sheen. 
While the spires of ancient Boyville, 
Gave an unction to the scene, 
Till the phantoms seized my heart 

strings. 
And made me want to scream. 

And way back there in Boyville 
Where the farmers come and go, 
With a steady mien and measure. 
Like the rivers gentle flow; 
They have formed some real opinions 
And "Bill Taft" has got to go, 
For they all must have some phan- 
toms. 
There beside the old St. Joe. 

I may travel over deserts, 

And tramp the shores of Spain; 



T U r \ T Y - S E V E \ 



I may view the Taj Mahal, 

Aiiid India's northern plain, 

I may talk the Yankee lingo, 

Adown the coast of Maine; 

But the phantoms ba^^k at Boyville. 

Shall never come again. 



A Valentine. 

Dear Alice May, 

I write to say, 
I'm lovin you 

Bout every day. 
But I must also 

Stop to tell. 
My wife says 

As I'm needin well 

If I don't just 

Most careful be 
She'll make things 

Hotter still for me. 



Dreamland. 

Did you ever live in dreamland? 

And dwell in ecstasy. 
Where the. things of other days 

Came crowding back to thee? 

And did you dwell in dreamland? 

Or did you dreaming, see, 
The things that should have .been, 

A part of life to thee? 

And did you wake from dreamland? 

And find that things to be, 
Are better than you ever dreamed. 

In wildest ecstasy? 

If you can see this ending. 
Your life has had its thrills. 

If not, you're very bilious. 
Take Brosius' Liver Pills. 



To Miss. 



V dreamer sat in his office chair 
nd somnolence captured him sitting there. 

eastwise a woman came slipping in, 
^ike a vision of joy to chat with him. 

can't make out this proper name, 
wish you could write like one in the game. 

~^all Crittenden up and make things go, 
_><an't he send us some finals, this months slow? 

Tver feel such a breeze a blowing as that, 
-vvery time I think it will get my rat? 



B 
O 



O 



ack to her work the woman trains, 
eyond her room comes Norma's strains. 

h somehow the music touched her heart, 
r was it the story of the singer apart? 

eastwise the things of love and woe, 
«ink hearts in friendship here below 

'ill lives in useful efforts spent, 
ake toll in happiness and content. 

h the dreamer awoke with feelings sore, 
n the abrupt intrusion oi Robert Moore. 



Nor could he find the woman there, 
ot even a glint of her beautiful hair. 



"If you love me 
Ais I love you," 

The old, old stoTy went, 
"No knife can cut 
Our love in two," 

Nor need we care a cent, 



The River St. Joe. 

(Michigan.) 

Tls only in fancy I now can descry 
The limped stream I knew long agoi; 

'Tis only in memory I now can defy 
The turbulent v/aters as onward 
they flow. 



T W E N T V 



B'Ut still in my fancy I'm living- today 
On the stream of my boyhood, the 
noble St. Joe, 
And nbw on its waters my boat rides 
away, 
While thei moonlight falls on me as 
onward I go. 

My comrades are with me; they're 
jolly and gay, 
And the woods and the shore line 
so beautiful seem, 
While now in the distance the night 
shadows lay 
'Round the dear little city of Con- 
stantine. 

Are we fishing tonight, boys, again 
as of yore? 
No— dreaming my hearties, as on- 
ward we go. 
And the forms that seem standing 
so dim on the shore, 
Are those in the legends of the 
noble St. .Joe. 

'Twas here Father Hennepin, in the 
days long- agone. 
Floated on o'er these waters so 
deep and so blue; 
'T'vas here that the Jesuits with 
chant and with song. 
Came telling their story to a world 
that was new. 

And now comes the vision of White 
Pigeon, the King, 
And the red man is master o'er riv 
er and wood. 
While the wild game and fish are 
the trophies they bring- 
To the Pottowatomie wigwams blest 
home of the good. 

But the visions pass quickly, Capt. 



Bungay is coming-, 
His flat boat is floating past Bar- 
ry's they say, 
And tlie stories of Puddleford told by 
Riley when funning, 
Como drifting to sight in a vague 
sort of way. 

0,h! quickly we live o'er the stories 
of old, 
And see things again as they were 
in our youth. 

The dams now cross over the river 
so bold. 
And the rumbling mills of its pow- 
er are the proof. 

What sovmd do I hear? Howl it echoes 
do swell! 
Oil! it',s over from town op this 
prayer meeting night, 
'Tis the grand invitation of the Dutch 
Reformed bell, 
And Beardsley is telling of Christ 
and the right. 

We shall anchor our boat by the vil- 
lage unseen, 
We'll find it again as we did long 
ago; 
Tlhere can be no changes in dear 
Constantine, 
TIhe proud little city of the river 
St. Joe. 

We'll walk through the maple lined 
streets 'till the sun 
Comes waking to life the folks we 
all knew. 
When Keightly first started to Wash- 
ington, 
And democrats howled because the3 
were blue. 



T H I R T \ - O N f 



And then to the school-house with 
children we knew, 
To go o'er the lessons and work as 
of yore, 
Mother Joss, Mrs. Bryson and Kings- 
bury, too, 
Are waiting- to tell us of things by 
the score. 

To the -country we'll wander, in the 
woods we shall tarry. 
And Fawn river shall bathe us, so 
jolly and gay. 
Then we'll watch old Sol, o'er White 
Pigeon prairie, 
As slowly and grandly he closes 
the day. 

Don't tell me of changes that time 
may have wrought. 
I'm living in boyhood, where tam- 
aracks grow; 
And the peppermint fields, in fancy. 
I've sought. 
On the river historic, the noble St. 
Joe. 




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